Two
Although I knew I might have to go to Santa’s North Pole seasonal offices to see the crime scene, I decided to search in the Unnatural Quarter first, which was much more convenient. (Riding up to the Arctic for hours in a freezing open sleigh sounded worse than flying in a middle seat in Coach.)
I started with someone who kept a similar list—primarily a Naughty list.
Officer Toby McGoohan is a dedicated beat cop, but his penchant for telling off-color jokes to the wrong people had gotten him transferred to the Quarter. McGoo is also my BHF, my best human friend. We help each other on cases. We commiserate about life and unlife over beers at the Goblin Tavern.
I found him outside one of the Talbot & Knowles blood bars, which are frequented by vampires who need their daily caffeine and hemoglobin fix. Some fanged customers drink straight blood, while others go for berry-flavored blood frappés or, now that the weather had turned colder, steaming cinnamon-spice hot clotties.
“Hey, Shamble,” McGoo said, tipping his blue cap. “What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?”
“What?” I groaned in advance.
“Frostbite.” He persists in telling me jokes. I haven’t been able to convince him they’re not funny, and he hasn’t been able to convince me that they are. As a special favor, I did promise I would try to laugh at some of them. But only some. “What’s new and exciting in your world?”
“I just picked up Santa Claus as a client. Somebody stole his list of Naughty and Nice kids.”
McGoo’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s a miracle on …” he glanced up, looking for a street corner, “32nd Street. If even Santa isn’t safe from criminal activity, we are living in troubled times indeed. What does the list look like?”
“Long roll of parchment, millions of handwritten names. Two columns labeled N and N.”
McGoo shook his head. “I’ll keep an eye out, but we’ve got real problems of our own in the Quarter.” He lowered his voice. “Kids are going missing, Shamble—a lot of them. We’ve received a rash of reports.”
A vampire couple came out of the blood bar, chatting away. One held a to-go carrier with four cups of blood drinks marked with Type A (extra hot), Type O negative, and two with Type B positive (and a hand-drawn smiley face).
McGoo called, “Excuse me, can I see those for a second?”
The vampires turned, surprised. “What is it, Officer?”
“Your blood drinks. I want to show my friend something.”
McGoo indicated the to-go cups, the first of which showed the printed picture of a young vampire boy who had been turned when he was maybe twelve years old. Big letters said “Have You Seen Me?” Printed below the photo were the vampire kid’s name, pre-turned age, and last-seen data.
The second cup showed a zombie boy with an incongruous smile beneath his sunken eyes. The third was a scruffy-looking full-furred werewolf, and the fourth showed a human girl in Goth makeup wearing an off-the-shelf gloomy expression.
After he thanked the vampire couple, they left. I shook my head. “That’s troubling, McGoo. I think I recognize the werewolf kid. He was part of the gang at the rumble a few months ago, Hairballs versus the Monthlies.”
“Yeah, he’s not the only rough one. Some of the missing children are straight off the Wikipedia page for Juvenile Delinquent. Not all of those photos were in a family album—a few are from mug-shot files.”
“Some of the disappearances could just be runaways,” I suggested. “Visiting some nice old lady’s gingerbread house in the forest.”
“For the record, Shamble, she wasn’t a nice old lady—I worked on that case,” McGoo said. “Not all of the missing kids have records. We’ve got grieving parents or foster-parents who want to find their missing little angels. I don’t know if the cases are related, or just a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” I said, wondering if this might also have something to do with the stolen Naughty and Nice list. “But I didn’t believe in Santa Claus either, and now he’s my client. Let me know if you get a lead on my case. I’ll do the same if I hear anything about the missing kids.”
McGoo nodded. “The Quarter’s getting nervous—put your mind to it, see what you come up with. You’ve got a lot of space in that big empty head of yours.”
I tapped the bullet hole in the middle of my forehead. “A little extra space maybe, but it’s not empty.” I tipped my fedora at him and left.
My first order of business was to figure out who would want to steal the Naughty and Nice list, and what anybody would use it for. In order to brainstorm, I invited Sheyenne to lunch.
***